


Pining For You

by islandgirl_246



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl_246/pseuds/islandgirl_246
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is the high school basketball star and captain who is dared by his team to date the high school loser, Stiles Stilinski. The boy is just plain weird, with his constantly changing hair colour, his nose always in book, plus he absolutely hates Derek Hale. He deserves a little shaking up. So when Derek agrees to a date and dump, he didn't expect Stiles to turn out to be his anchor and mate. But he has a bet to win, doesn’t he? And if the pink-haired punk kinda also holds his heart – so what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haleinskibro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleinskibro/gifts).



> So I combined two of the prompts that I liked the best and because one of them said I could change the rating, I decided to add it to the prompt I really wanted to write. Both were high school and both AU, so tadah! 
> 
> I'm so hoping, more than anything, that @haleinskibro really likes this.

"I can do it!"

"Anyone?"

"Anyone! I told you, it doesn't matter," Derek puffed up his chest and all but sneered at Jackson, who rubbed his hands together and grinned in glee.

"You know this is a punk ass deal, right?" Danny asked shaking his head. "He's gonna find you the most despicable person he can and make you go out with them."

"Bring it on already," Derek shrugged. "What's taking you so long, Whittemore. Lost your balls?"

The locker room sniggered, and there were several high fives being passed around. These types of shenanigans between Hale and Whittemore were locker room legend. The boys could turn just about anything into a dick-measuring competition; but it was always entertaining to watch.

"So who we gonna pick, Jackson?" Isaac Lahey called out, and Jackson turned with a smirk on his face, and for the first time Derek's stomach made an uncomfortable lurch.

"Stiles Stilinski."

"Oh man!" There was an almost unanimous groan throughout the locker room and several guys patted Derek on the back in sympathy. Everyone, shook their heads in commiseration. Everyone but Danny. "Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you should choose someone else Jacks."

"What? You going soft on me, Danny Boy? You feeling sorry for that multi-coloured hair, Pride card carrying, know it all freak?"

"I'm just saying you've already gotten in enough trouble over Stilinski. Perhaps give it a rest." Danny said, unafraid of Jackson's bluster. They'd been friends for years. Few people knew Jackson the way Danny knew Jackson, and unlike most, Danny knew exactly and intimately what was behind Jackson's constant run-ins with Stiles.

"Careful there, Jackson. Your cracks are showing. We all know that you'd use any opportunity to get the kid away from your girl. I mean, they have been spending a lot of time together." The boys snickered and one patted Derek on the back for his quick come back.

"It's work. Just school work. They were partnered for that science fair thing. What else is she supposed to do? Lydia is extremely competitive."

"Ummhmm. She's also quite fond of Stilinski," Isaac piped in, just to watch Jackson turn another shade of scarlet.

"Please. I'm not in the least worried about that little freak. He wouldn't know what to do with a chick, even if she stood naked in front of him and invited him over. I think our Derek here is more his speed."

"If I didn't know you better, Jacks. I would think you were a homophobe and then I'd have to kick your teeth in."

"Come on man. You know me. Live and let live is my motto. Unless it's Stilinski, cause that smart-mouth kid's got it coming. So are you gonna take the bet, Hale. Or are you going chicken shit on us?"

Derek dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it into the back of his locker, pausing for the best effect to let them all look their fill at his supernaturally gifted physique. With a grin of his own, he crowed, "You're on, Jacks. Loser does locker room duty for the rest of the term."

"Oh!" the boys all cried out almost in unison. Locker room duty sucked. Usually it was Greenberg that ended up getting suckered into picking up their gear, taking it to the laundry, collecting it back and delivering it to the boys, as well as clearing away the gear after practice sessions and games. The boy was desperate for friends and would literally do anything the popular crowd wanted.

And the bet was on.

++++++

Stiles shoved his purple hair off his forehead. It was getting long again and his dad was making noises about a trip to the barber. Purple is one of his favourite colours, other than blue. He woke up this morning and it felt like a purple kinda day, hence the hair. It was something he could do just thinking about it, but there were times when his emotions took over and his hair colour just changed without this consent. His Spark simply had a will of its own at times, when his emotions triggered a reaction. And one such trigger was right now walking in his direction, and he could already feel the annoyance settling in as Derek Hale smiled at him.

"Hey Stiles."

Before he could even reply, he felt his roots start to tingle and closed his eyes on a deep sigh. _If this was another of the team's corny ideas of a joke, he was gonna go ape shit on somebody and he was not reigning his magic back._ He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was coming up at his back. "What do you want Hale?"

"What's with the hostility?" he smiled, and Stiles was confused because that was Derek's signature smile . . . aimed at him. It was the one that made females and males alike drop their drawers and offer themselves to the werewolf. He'd even seen it at work on a teacher once. It would have been funny to watch if it hadn't been so damn irritating and embarrassing for the woman in question. They were always got whatever he wanted. He was Captain of the basketball team, School Body President, Joint-leader of the Homecoming Committee, alongside Lydia Martin, and seemingly an overall nice guy. But something about him always rubbed Stiles the wrong way and he could never figure out what. _And there it went, yep,_ his hair was turning green. Derek looked at the changing colour and simply smirked. The shithead smirked. He always seemed amused when he forced Stiles’ hair into a colour change. It would help if he was ugly, or at least a failing student, but no, he had to be perfect, in almost every way. Rumor had it he had even turned down a modeling contract with Vogue because he was worried the grades he wanted for his choice college would slip.

"What?" Stiles snapped, glaring daggers at Hale.

"Hey, look sorry to interrupt your . . . whatever, I just wanted to know if you'd be interested in being part of the Homecoming Committee. The theme we're going for is ‘Villains, Vamps and Victors Throughout History’ and we could use someone with your knowledge. I mean Lydia said you knew this stuff like the back of your hand," Derek said. He knew it was the right note to hit. _Mention Lydia and that the red-head wanted him in this and there was no way Stilinski would say no._ And of course, spending time with the Committee would mean more time with Derek, would mean he could engineer some alone time with the bookworm. He had a bet to win.

Stilinski was squinting at him, as if he was trying to see beneath his clothes to his very soul. "You want me, me on the Homecoming Committee? With the popular kids? Me?"

"Come on. It's not about popularity. . ." When Stiles' eyebrows climbed up to his hairline and he all but scoffed, Derek modified, "Well it's not all about the popularity. This Homecoming is actually raising funds for the supernatural orphanage. We've got all kinds of kids in there and they need this help to keep doing what they're doing. We need to do it right."

 _And there he went, proving he wasn't just a jock with a pretty face_ , and Stiles' hair turned an even deeper shade of forest green. Derek Hale just pissed him off, with his perfect everything. "I'll think about it."

"Lydia said you were the best person she could think of as a resource. We need you, Stiles. I hope you say yes." Before Stiles couldn’t even muster a comeback, Hale was walking away, and worse half the school was now staring at Stiles like he was something under a microscope. Like what could Hotness McHotty Hale actually want with the freak? He just knew his day was about to go to hell. And this, this was why Stiles maintained a small very intimate circles of friends. 


	2. Not What He Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to escape a tough day at school and runs into Derek. Both realise there might be more to each other than each first realises.

By the end of the day he was dodging comments, glares, stares and pointed whispers. _What even was his life?_ To make matter worse, his hair was now the deepest shade of green it had ever been and he was holding his explosive spark in by the edge of his nails.

He'd felt it building all afternoon, as yet another girl whispered, loud enough for him to hear, _"I mean, what could Derek Hale want with that freak anyway? He'll probably regret it when Bilinski ends up stalking him for the rest of the term"_ , and another joined in, **_"_** _Yea, so absolutely ridiculous. I mean any of us could research the information he needs for the Homecoming Committee. Bilinski is nothing special"._

The hostility was one of the reasons he stayed far from the popular kids and the idiots. Despite the fact that so few actually knew him, everyone suddenly had a comment or view on his supposed inclusion in the Homecoming Committee. He just wanted to get in his jeep and drive to his private spot in the preserve where he could let his Spark loose. He was beginning to feel the strain of holding it in since lunch, and he'd be damned if he'd let anyone lock him in the protective vault again. The last time he'd had an explosive incident, the teacher had sent him to the vault to blow off steam and the idiots from the team had locked him in. He had been in there for four hours by the time the cleaning crew found him. As the last bell rang, he rushed from his seat headed for the door. His equilibrium was officially destroyed and all he wanted to do was get out of this damn school. Somewhere behind him he heard Scott calling his name, but he had neither time nor inclination to wait on his best bud. They’d catch up later no doubt, as they had a standing Thursday night engagement of whatever video game Stiles could pulverize him in. Currently, it was WOW11 – a version of the game made specially for the supernatural community with more tricks, traps and capers than the normal human variety could sustain. Which meant that ever so often Beacon Hills High held a tournament. Stiles was determined to enter this year. The bounty would see him through his first semester of college for sure, and ease the burden on his dad.

But enough about video games. He slammed the jeep into gear and sped out of the parking lot; the very first to do so and therefore had no waiting line in front of him. He headed fast for the preserve, hoping against hope that one of his dad’s deputies would not stop him for speeding. Supernatural or not, he was still mortal enough to die in a crash, and occasionally he liked to floor it, something every deputy in the office also knew. So there was a standing order to keep an eye out for his jeep and pull him over if he broke the conservative speed limit.

He hit the preserve and almost wheezed out a breath of relief. He was almost there. Eight minutes and he’d be at his spot – _just hold on, Stiles_. Eight minutes and twenty-eight seconds later he was tripping his way out of the jeep and onto the embankment near the water’s edge. He felt the swell before he could even come to a standstill and all he could do was open his senses and let it rip. The power surged out of him like a tide, blasting its way across the grassy knoll, blasting the grass and trees back, shaking leaves and disturbing nearby animals, sending them scampering. His surge never hurt the forest; hadn’t since he was three and his mother taught him pressure control. Now his releases were like a warm, rainbow-coloured wind. Sometimes, just sometimes, especially in moments like now, he wished for once he could really let loose – no control, just raze everything and start fresh. The problem with that was the potential to also hurt people he cared about and of course the animals. He chose to come out here in case he could not get a handle on things.

Feeling his Spark settle, off-kilter and trembling he sunk to the grass and sucked in deep, long gulps of air. The fact that even in release he had to exercise such exquisite control meant he could never fully let himself go the way he sometimes needed to. So there was always that burn in his chest after, the wobble that felt like the edge of a panic attack that forced him to further calm himself with breathing.

“You ok?”

The voice shocked a squeak out of him. Rushing unsteadily to his feet, he almost crumpled when a strong set of hands reached out to center him. God, he knew that smell. _Why, why him? Of all the possible people in the universe, why Derek Hale?_

“I was going home and saw your jeep. The engine was still on and the driver’s door open. Thought I’d make sure nothing bad had happened to you,” he smirked. And even shaken, Stiles found he wanted to wipe that smirk from his smug face.

“Why can’t you leave me alone.” Shit, that sounded a little more broken and vulnerable than he’d like, and because of that he wrenched himself out of those strong arms.

“Hey look. Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but you seemed a little . . . I don’t know, shaken, disturbed, when you sped out of the parking lot after school. You almost ran over Greenberg. Then I see your jeep and the rainbow fireworks, so I figured I’d better make sure you’re ok . . . on Hale property and all,” Derek said, serious now, no trace of the jock in sight.

 _Way to go, Stiles. The guy stops to see if you’re ok, while you’re trespassing on his family’s land and you yell at him. Good going!_ And just as he’s berating himself, he recalled the reason he was here in the first place, because Mr. Pretty here decided to make him the talk of BHH by actually talking to him, rather than shoving him into hard surfaces – although technically Derek had only done that once to save him getting a ball to the face during basketball practice on the outside hardcourts when the gym was under some kind of repairs and he wasn’t looking where he was going. His pal Jackson and the other morons were the ones who delighted in terrorizing him.

“Look sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass on your property. I’ll go.” Stiles moved to get away from Derek as fast and dignified as he possibly could while feeling like a piece of lettuce left out in the sun too long.

“Hey, I didn’t say you had to clear out. Seriously. Sit, catch your breath. After what I just felt, you’ve got to be feeling a little wrung out right now. That’s some blast you let out there. Never felt anything like that before.”

And Stiles froze. Normally he was careful to ensure no one human was within a hundred-yard radius when he let his Spark fly. That Hale had been there was both embarrassing and felt somewhat intrusive somehow; like he’d seen something private, vulnerable. Stiles felt his roots tingle as his hair, which had earlier returned to his natural shade of brown after the blast, now started to develop streaks of red. He was too weak at the moment to hold the change off, so he flopped to the grass like a damp rag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was near.” _What you mean, you big dummy is that you never checked._

“Will you stop apologizing.” Derek sounded slightly exasperated for a minute. “Look we all need to let out stress every now and then. You don’t see me apologizing for letting my wolf out to run now and then, do you? It’s part of who we are; what we are. If we go around apologizing for it, then doesn’t that lessen our enjoyment and pride in who and what we are?”

Stiles was stunned and aware he was gaping at Derek. _Who was this dude? Where the hell had that kind of insight come from? Who even knew he was capable of such deep thought?_

“What?” Derek asked, brows drawn into a scowl. “It’s true isn’t it? Stop looking at me like that . . . Feel better now?”

Stiles nodded mutely, still feeling shell-shocked at the side of Derek that had just been revealed to him. Derek reached out and handed him his keys. He’d clearly left them in the jeep earlier. When he got to his feet for the trail back to the jeep, he was more than a little surprised when Derek fell into step beside him. All the way back he kept darting glances at the school’s No. 1 walking beside him like he’d rather be doing nothing else.

“Does that happen often?” The question was asked in little more than a whisper and so sudden it surprised Stiles at the gentle voice beneath it. For a moment he considered whether he should be blasé about it or not. In the end he settled for the frank truth. “Only when I get overwhelmed.”

“And you were overwhelmed today.” It was more of a statement than a question. “How much of that was because of what I did at lunch?” Now Stiles could not, not look at him. “I heard the talk around the school. I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal my asking you to sit on the Committee.”

“Why did you?”

“I told you…”

“That’s not what I meant. Why was it you who asked, rather than Lydia? I would have expected Lydia.”

Derek exhaled, but didn’t answer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”

“What were you expecting? Why do you even care?” Stiles turned to face him, hair back to its regular shade of brown. Derek’s eyes met his and for a moment neither moved.

“I . . . I’ve got to go. I’m sure mom heard my car forever ago and will come out looking if it doesn’t turn up at the house soon,” his words almost tripping over each other. He turned toward his Camaro parked a few meters away, then paused. “Stiles? I hope you really consider the Committee. We could use your help.”

Stiles stood where he was until the taillights of the car disappeared, wondering if he’d accidentally fallen into a time warp of some kind where people are the same and yet not who they usually are. Nothing else explained the phenomenon that was the Derek Hale he’d just experienced.

He exhaled and got into the jeep.

++++++

He would not freak out. He wouldn’t, Derek told himself as he watched the still figure of Stiles Stilinski disappear from his rearview mirror. But he had no idea what’d just happened. One minute he was on the way home, the next he was staring at Stilinski’s blue battered jeep sitting just off the beaten path leading west from their house. Then he’d stepped out the car and a warm flood of colour had washed over him like summer rain. It’d been like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was chaotic, but at the same time warm, tingly. He’d followed his nose to find Stiles sinking to the forest floor, all wrung out and looking on the edge of some kind of panic or anxiety attack. He still remembered when the boy used to suffer those after his mother’s death, before he’d brought his control back around him like a shield. Then again, maybe that’s exactly what it was, because if Stiles had gotten half the kinds of accusations launched at him that Derek had heard only in passing - _and that’s only because rather than tuning out the usual school chatter, he had dialed his senses in after he heard Stiles’ name mentioned by more than one person_ \- The kinds of things being said about him almost made Derek feel ill. He regretted approaching Stiles so publicly rather than getting him alone.

He’d gone looking for him at the ring of the bell, only to hear Scott McCall yelling after him down the school corridor. Moments later the familiar rattle of the blue jeep had peeled out of the parking lot, but the smell Stiles had left behind had him worried. It was the smell of contained magic – heavy cinnamon, overcast skies, and beneath it all the damp smell of earth that was so very . . . Stiles. So he’d jumped in his car and followed, about three minutes behind the jeep tearing through town.

He thought he’d seen a glance of Deputy Parrish as he blew past the Convenience Store, but if Parrish had sensed the tight reigns on Stiles’ magic, he’d decided against stopping the lad this time. Everyone knew about the standing order from the Sheriff about pulling Stiles off the road when he forgot himself and went speeding all over the place. So against his better judgement, he’d reached inside the blue vehicle, turned off the engine, pulled the keys from the jeep and followed his nose. The conversation they’d had wasn’t planned. In fact, Derek had no plans of saying a word. He just wanted to hand the keys over and pretend he hadn’t seen or felt what he had, but something in the way Stiles looked at him biting on those obscene pink lips of his had stalled Derek’s thinking process. It was only when, on the way back to the car when Stiles admitted to the rough day he’d had that Derek had felt a punch in the stomach. _He’d caused that. He knew he did._

And when Stiles asked why he cared, his throat almost closed up. He honestly didn’t know, but somehow he did. He cared, and that was the biggest shock of all because before now, Stiles had barely been on his radar. He was the kid Jackson and the guys from the team terrorized because he was too smart and too smart-mouthed for his own good. He made them look bad and worse, dumb. Derek never worried because he was smart. The others didn’t appreciate it, especially given that Stiles was a year younger, already in advanced classes and had been moved up a year into their grade three years previous. The fact that he still beat them at everything academic was a sore spot, or rather at the moment just a sore.

So yeah. Stiles Stilinski wasn’t at all what he’d expected and suddenly the bet he’d made seemed somehow a bit crueler than he’d originally thought.


	3. He Hates Me, He Hates Me Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has a little problem - a Stilinski-shaped problem.

Stiles walked into the private collections section of the library. It was a separate room from the rest of the library, with its own soundproofing and air condition. It was commandeered each year by the Homecoming Committee for their meetings and this year was no different.

He had no expectations – at least that’s what he told himself. And his being here had absolutely nothing to do with the confusing dream he'd had about Derek Hale. The damn boy had barely left his mind all night, and as a result Scott had been crowing about his defeat at WOW all day. The bastard. He hadn’t told his friend any about his encounter with Derek in the woods, nor did he plan to. There were too many things he still didn’t understand and could not articulate – like how he felt about the whole encounter. So he was going to find out. Lydia looked up and grinned at him. The furor about his joining the Committee had settled down today and rumor had it Lydia Martin had stepped in and laid down the law. Anyone that had a problem with Stiles Stilinski being on the Committee could bring their complaint to her. Otherwise, shut the hell up about it. The entire school, afraid of what the Queen Bee could do, had shut up about it. All he now received were a few glares and a few flashes of supernatural eyes here and there.

“Stiles!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in obvious glee. He watched Derek and a few other wolves in the room grit their teeth at her shout. Sometimes she was a little inconsiderate about the whole banshee thing. “You came.” She got up and embraced him.

He felt Derek’s eyes like a physical touch. He was rocking butter yellow hair today and he was determined to hold onto the colour ‘til he said when – maddening Derek Hale be damned. When he looked up, Derek was once again looking at papers spread out on the desk in front of him, but Stiles just knew that moments before they had been focused on him. Lydia cleared the space next to her, between her and Derek, like it was an honorary position, and they got down to business, plucking Stiles’ expert brain on ideas for the Prom. Two-and-a-half hours later his head hurt. Lydia was just as demanding and every bit a drill sergeant here as she was with their science fair project. Watching the dynamics of the group, he began to wonder if anyone but he had ever said no to her. She was slightly terrifying when she wanted something.

At the end of the meeting, Derek had come up to him to say thanks for joining. Then, like fate had a sense of humour, Lydia “suggested” they all go out for a bite to eat, and she knew the perfect place. When one or two members voiced token complaints that they could not afford it, Lydia brushed them off with a toss of her red hair. The place made her favourite salad and her father had an account there that they could charge everything to. Problem solved and no more excuses.

When Stiles tried to duck out, Lydia slipped her arm into his and said cheerfully that she was going to “ride with Stiles”. There went his quick getaway.

++++++

After being excited and convinced that the Committee would be the perfect opportunity to get closer to Stiles, Derek did not understand his reticence at being close to the boy. Everything about him was setting Derek’s wolf off, and he didn’t understand it. And to make matters worse, Lydia had put them right next to each other and his wolf kept straining for a smell of Stiles. _Since when did he smell this good?_ It was baffling. By the end of the Committee session he was ready to call it a day so his wolf could go scare up some rabbits in the preserve and calm the hell down. But then Lydia had to go and throw a wrench in his plans by suggesting they spend yet more time together. And as he was about to beg out, she assigned three people who were without a ride, for whatever reason, to travel to the restaurant with him. He could strangle the banshee.

So less than 10 minutes later they were walking into the restaurant, Derek grinding his teeth. Stiles sidled up to him with a little frown on his face.

“You ok?” he whispered, so as not to be overheard by the others with enhanced hearing in the group. Derek sighed quietly. “You don’t look ok.” Stiles continued.

“I’m fine, Stiles.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know, for a werewolf.” Stiles all but smirked at him. Derek almost laughed, if he only knew. _And when had Stiles become so comfortable around him anyway to be making jokes?_

“What are you two whispering about? Come sit,” Lydia called over, looking annoyed that someone else was hogging Stiles’ attention. Stiles hurried to the table slipping into the chair beside Lydia, and Derek was left no choice but to follow.

Dinner was fun, if a little bit painful for Derek. He had to excuse himself twice to have a stern word with his wolf in the bathroom. He hadn’t had this kind of control problem since he was a pup, and now his wolf was battling him to roll around with Stiles, to sniff and bite him, to claim him. It was frankly as scary as it was puzzling. He was glad to see the end of the evening. When he rolled through the door, his mother and Alpha took one look at him and sent him for a run. He knew he’d have to explain himself when he got back. He just hoped he could.

++++++

“Want to talk about it?” Alpha Talia Hale was a beautiful woman. She was wife, business woman, Member of the Town Council, but the role she treasured the most was that of mother, even above that of Alpha. When Derek had walked in the door he had smelled wild, like he had been holding his wolf back all evening. She was worried. She had not seen him in such a state in years; not since she began teaching each of them control before they could even lose their baby teeth.

He’d come in and headed straight for the showers as was required of all wolves after a hunt or run. Watching as he devoured the sandwich she had made him while he was in the shower. She could smell food on him when he came in, but he was now eating like he hadn’t had a meal all day and her concern increased.

“It's a boy at school. My wolf keeps going a little bit off around him,” he said around a mouthful of bread.

“Define strange,” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know . . . Up until a couple days ago, it was nothing. Now every time my wolf smells him he wants out. He wanted to bite him today and I had to restrain him but he wasn’t pleased, to say the least. Fought me all the way home.” Derek picked up the glass of grapefruit juice his mother poured him. “Thanks.”

“When did this start happening? What is he? Could he be a witch?”

“No, I mean, he’s magical, and he seems to be pretty powerful, but I don’t think he did anything to me, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just,” Derek breathed in, “Last week I ran into him in the preserve. He was having a bit of trouble controlling his Spark and needed to let off a little steam, and . . . we talked, really talked. I’d never even bothered to before, you know? And suddenly it’s like I can’t get him out of my head and my wolf is going berserk every time he’s near him.”

A gentle smile lit Talia’s face. Derek shot her a fierce frown. “What?”

“Sounds like your wolf likes him.”

“What? No he doesn’t. He’s annoying. He’s too smart. He’s a klutz and a sarcastic little shit. He . . .”

“Wait, are we talking about the Stilinski boy? That Spark?”

Derek’s head dropped, because of course that description could only fit one magical person in town. He lifted his head minutely and peered through his lashes to find his mother grinning at him.

“God, I hate it when you get that look on your face.”

“What look,” his father asked, coming through the kitchen and dropping his leather work case on the counter and a gentle kiss on his wife’s lips, before patting his son on his back and proceeding to the sink for a glass and a drink of the juice his wife was holding.

“That look,” Derek pointed accusingly, as his mother continued to grin.

“Oh Lord, what’s happening now,” Andrew Hale asked in a resigned tone, knowing this particular look of his wife and Alpha very well.

“I think the Sheriff’s son is Derek’s anchor.”

"What?" Derek shrieked, “No he can’t be!”, as Andrew muttered, “Oh shit” The arched brow of his wife told him she’d heard the slip clear as day.

“I mean, shucks. Oh shucks. Now Talia, please don’t do anything rash.”

“Mom?!” And it was the aghast tone Derek had not used since he was eight and Cora peed in his favourite basketball shoes. “What do you mean he’s my anchor. I can’t be tied to him. What are you going to do? You can’t say anything. Promise me. I’m never going to school again if you do anything.”

Talia’s face fell. “But Derek . . .”

“NO!” both son and husband yelled at the same time.

“Ok, ok. I promise I won’t do anything until you say when.”

“Pinky swear,” Derek glared, as Andrew snorted into his juice.

“Really, Derek.” Talia said in a flat tone.

“Pinky mom, or I swear . . .”

“Alright, geez. You two are no fun.” She smacked the jug of juice onto the counter and sauntered towards the kitchen exit. Fine, she had town business waiting in her office anyway. “Either way honey, I’m happy for you.”

“You might be the only one,” Derek muttered.

“You ok, son?”

“I don’t know, dad. I may be tied to the one person in school that hates me and probably thinks I’m a tool," he sighed. "I’m going to bed to rest a while. I need to think.”

“You know I, and your mother, despite every indication to the contrary, are here for you. She’d never do anything to make this more difficult for you than it has to be.”

“I know, dad. I just wished she didn’t have this ongoing one-upmanship with the Sheriff. Night dad.”

“You want dinner?”

“Nah, I ate already.” As he passed, his father lightly scented his neck. He didn’t know if he’d get any sleep that night.


	4. An Unexpected Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek decides to court Stiles, but Jackson intervenes.

Stiles wasn’t sure what was up with Hale. It seemed every time he entered a room, Hale left it. At Homecoming meetings, they were stayed almost as far as the room permitted from him and each time he tried to engage him in conversation, the were looked on the verge of panic. It was frankly starting to piss Stiles off a bit. Added to which, he was sure he caught Derek sniffing him too. First he was all caring and apologizing; then he was funny and engaging; then he was running to the bathroom every couple minutes during that one Committee impromptu dinner and now it was like Stiles had the plague. And to make matters worse he felt like too many people were watching him or something.

He’d distinctly caught Isaac Lahey watching him in the cafeteria, but when he looked at the boy to ask what the hell he’d immediately pretended he hadn’t been staring; and he wasn’t the only one. First Hale’s strange behavior, now this. He was confident that the Jack-Tool was up to something and was forever on his guard.

++++++

“Can we talk?”

Stiles almost jumped out of his skin as warm breath brushed his neck. He was ambling aimlessly through the mall. Scott was off somewhere today with Allison, so he was on his own. The last thing he expected was for Derek Hale to sneak up on him. _And he looked good too._ The stray thought immediately had him blushing. _Damn his skin,_ he thought as his scalp began to tingle. “Jesus, I need to get you belled.” When Derek just smiled, Stiles sighed tiredly before catching himself and glancing around suspiciously, “What do you want Hale?”

“Umm, I was wondering, ah, if you maybe wanted to catch a movie tonight,” Stiles just stared at him, “It’s just a movie Stiles,” he continued in a disgruntled voice after several moments of silence.

“You’re asking me out? Me?” Stiles’ voice flat lined and suddenly his eyes were everywhere, looking behind him, above him, watchful and distrustful. “Is this some kind of trap? Are those assholes somewhere near?”

“What assholes?”

“Your friends, of course. This sounds like a set-up to get me alone for a prank.”

“Jesus, Stiles. It’s a simple date,” Derek almost yelled.

“You want to. Date. Me? Me? Why?”

“Will you stop that! Look, if you didn’t want to go all you had to do was say so,” Derek moved to turn away, shoulders slumped, face dejected. Before he could get a few steps Stiles was rushing to stop him.

“You’ve been avoiding me like for the last couple weeks and suddenly you want to take me out? What’s going on with you?”

“I wasn’t avoiding . . .” At Stiles raised eyebrows and unimpressed eye roll, he amended, “Ok, look. I was trying to work up a way to ask, Ok? I didn’t want a repeat of the invitation to join the Committee scenario. It didn’t go so well and I didn’t want that to happen again.”

“Oh.” Stiles deflated and blushed a bit. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, Stiles. Very.” The last was said in a shy undertone.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yea,” the smile on Stiles’ face sent Derek’s heart racing. _When did he get so beautiful?_

“Cool. How does a bite to eat and a movie sound? I can pick you up at home? 5:30? You can decide what movie to see.”

“Sure. Sounds good. Derek, are you sure about this?”

"Look, I'd like to get to know you a little better, Stiles. We are going to be working on the same Committee until the end of the year and I’d like to know more than that you’re the Sheriff’s kid and your hair changes colour when you’re pissed off at me; or that you make beautiful rainbows when you get overwhelmed."

Stiles’ cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red and for the first time in a long while he was at a loss for words. Derek smiled, "So I'll see you later," and walked away with a smile on his face. A genuine smile, not one of the smirks Stiles often wanted to punch his face in for. He stood where he was for a moment still stunned. Derek Hale had asked him out and he’d said yes. He was afraid to get his hopes up because he knew deep down he had been developing a crush on Hale ever since that moment in the preserve. Maybe, just maybe he could hope, just a little that this meant something. _Derek thought he made beautiful rainbows._ He could just squeal, but it’d probably just be embarrassing, he was sure of it.

++++++

The date was everything. Derek was on time, opened doors for him, pulled out his chair at the small restaurant they stopped for dinner before the movie. The conversation had been light, intelligent and stimulating, and when they finally decided on a movie, Derek had reached over and held onto his hand for more than half the flick.

Stiles was in heaven, and his hair was tingling like crazy.

When they left the theatre Derek looked at him with a puzzled glance. “What?” he’d asked, hoping he didn’t have popcorn between his teeth or something. “Your hair. Your roots are pink. I’ve never seen that before.”

“Oh.” Stiles face turned a shade of red. He knew what it meant and he was mortified. His mother had had pink hair, up until her death. She’d had pink hair because of his father. He was in so much trouble here. At his door later, Derek leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, thanking him for a lovely and stimulating evening. Stiles had difficulty getting to sleep.  
++++++

And so began a series of dates that soon set the school a buzzing, and not even stormy glances from Lydia or threats about leaving Stiles alone could deter the juicy gossips.

And when Stiles’ roots turned and stayed pink and started to extend outward, his close friends gave him those knowing glances. His father was banging around in the kitchen most mornings at breakfast, slamming things Stiles had no idea could be slammed and muttering to himself about Alpha Hale and parking fines and wayward sons. (That whole parking tickets thing was never going to die between those two.) But nevertheless, Stiles was happy. He was grinning through his classes, happy throughout the day, especially at lunch when his “boyfriend” came to seek him out so they could eat together.

The only stutter in their otherwise idyllic days was Derek’s constant frown of puzzlement at Stiles’ ever pink-ening hair. When Derek finally kissed him, after two weeks of long glances, easy touches and increasing arousal on both parts, Stiles hair went full-on pink, neon like no one had ever seen.

And of course, that was when ‘Jackson **the Jackass Tool Man** Whittemore’ decided to strike.

++++++  
“Hey Stiles.” A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “How are things?” Jackson smirked down on him and despite Stiles’ evasive manoeuvres, that hand refused to move. “You’ve been awfully cheerful lately. Positively glowing, really. Things going well with our boy, I suppose.”

Stiles wrenched himself out from under Jackson’s arm, and felt a throb in his neck as a result. He was sure he’d just pulled his neck muscle or something. _The absolute jackass_. “What’s it to you, Jacka . . . Jackson?” _Oops_.

"I think I'm just a little teed-off that you're causing me even more stress than usual, Stilinski."

"What are you talking about?" Stiles asked puzzled, giving up on trying to get away from the neanderthal who now had him cornered. "If you don't like the fact that your best friend and I are dating, then you should bring it up with him. I'm sure he'd love to tell you where to jump off."

"Ha ha. You've got all kinds of jokes, don't you Pride Boy? I wonder if you'd be as confident if you knew you were a bet. . ." Jackson sneered, eyes going cold, cruel.

And Stiles felt his stomach churn. "What, what are you talking about?"

"Awww, you thought he was falling for you, didn't you?" the idiot crowed. "Ha, that's precious! Almost as precious as your pink mop here. No, no, dear. You're nothing but Hale's attempt to win a bet. Has he screwed you yet, ‘cause that'd be bonus points if you put out."

Stiles’ heart gave a little jerk and sped up. No doubt Jackson heard it because his grin took on an even more cruel twist. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you. He’s got a fair amount riding on your falling in love with him and if the rumors are true, he’s about to win the pot and won’t the entire locker room be happy. Quite a few seem to believe he can get into your bloomers before Homecoming. He hasn’t yet, has he?” Jackson laughed long and loud.

And that’s when Stiles Stilinski, the most powerful Spark in Beacon Hills, lost it.


	5. Heartbreak Clean-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall out from Stiles' reaction reverberates around Beacon Hills and something has to be done because no one saw this coming - least of all Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a longer than usual chapter, but I didn't want to break it.

Derek’s car skidded in front of the Stilinski house. He got out at a run, engine still running, but before he could step a toe on the Stilinski porch, the front door flew open and a thunderous Sheriff stood there facing him with a shot gun in his hand.

“I may not have wolfsbane-tipped silver bullets in this gun at the moment, and if I did it might be an offense to shoot you, but at this moment I think I’d happily go to jail for my son. So may I suggest getting off my front lawn, Mr. Hale.”

“Is Stiles ok?” Derek felt his pulse beating in his throat. Heard the blood rush to his head and suddenly felt dizzy. “Please tell me he’s ok.” His wolf was going crazy, wanting to attack the Sheriff, get him out of the way.

“How my son is, is not your concern, young man. Might I suggest again that you get off my front lawn. I would hate to repeat myself a third time,” the Sheriff threatened dangerously, raising the nozzle of the weapon.

“Please, I just need to see him. I need to know he’s ok. I . . . I need to explain. Please sir, let me explain to him.”

“Get. Off. My. Lawn. All of you.” That’s when Derek felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He startled and realized his parents were standing at his side.

“John. . .”

“Not this time Talia. This time you’ve gone too far. Stay away from my kid or so help me God!” With those ominous words the weary and tired looking Sheriff spun and disappeared into his home, slamming his door behind him.

Derek wasn’t aware he’d made a sound until he was pulled roughly into his father’s chest. The snarl turned into a whine then that could not be held back. His mother reached out and pried his folded fists apart, removing the claws he hadn’t realized he’d embedded in his palms or the blood that dripped even as his wounds began to close. He whimpered again, a long, high-pitched, painful sound that brought tears to his mother’s eyes and a hitch to his father’s throat. They’d have to keep a watchful eye against their son going feral in the days to come.

++++++

Stiles suppose he should have expected it, but he didn’t. He’d had no clue. He was in **_Love Land_** , on the isle of Bliss and Contentment, beside the River Satisfaction, wearing very thick blinkers. And suddenly now, he was standing on the banks gazing across at the Field of Disillusionment. He’d blocked out the sound of his father arguing with Derek, or whomever outside the house. He’d dulled down the familiar purr of the sports car whose plush seats he could still remember the smell of – sandalwood, pine and earth. _Because it smelled exactly like Derek’s favourite scent._ The smell that no matter what he did he could not get out of his nose now, and Stiles had loved rainy days and the smell of the too saturated earth. Now it was ruined for him.

He barely remembered his father coming to fetch him from school. If anyone had asked, he couldn’t even remember his conversation with Whittemore or how it ended. He just knew he woke up to his father calling his name in a panicked voice he had not heard since his mother had collapsed in their kitchen that sunny April afternoon.

All he knew is that his hair was white. Not brown, not green, not yellow, not pink, just stark white, and that appeared to have scared the bejesus out of Druid Deaton when he’d been called in in the aftermath of whatever it was Stiles had done, which had only scared his father more. Apparently for a Spark like him, white hair was a very bad sign. _Who knew?!_

++++++

When Derek woke his mom was sitting beside his bed, worry etched across her face. And that’s when it all hit again. Stiles. He’d lost Stiles through his own stupidity.

“Hi baby,” his mom said gently as a sob broke his lips. “Oh honey, shhhh. It’s gonna be ok. We’ll work this out.”

“How mom? I lied to him. I should have never made that stupid bet, but I didn’t know Jackson would do something like that. I didn’t know, I honestly didn’t think it’d go this far and now I’ve lost my anchor and my mate.”

“You don’t know that.” It was his father who spoke from the door.

“His father won’t let us anywhere near him. Won’t even tell us if he’s ok, or if he’s injured, or if he’s . . .”

“Hush now, you can’t think like that. You’d know if he wasn’t alive; so of course Stiles isn’t dead, and Deaton says Whittemore may be out of commission for a long while, but he’ll recover too.”

“You didn’t see the corridor after mom. It was near shredded. The principal called him dangerous. I know he’s not dangerous. Erica said he was unconscious when they took him from the hall; said he looked lifeless.” Derek sobbed, claws loose again. “Jackson’s been goading him for the past few years and now I go and do this to him, to my anchor, whom I’m supposed to protect above all else. What does that make me?”

“A kid. A kid who made a mistake.” His father’s gruff voice responded in a near growl as he crossed the room and hugged his son, scenting him, comforting him.

“Mom?” A tentative voice called from the doorway. “It’s the Mayor. He wants to see you right away.” Laura glanced at her brother. He looked broken, and that worried her as much as the strain on her parents’ faces did. The tension in the house was thick and everyone was talking in whispers. It hadn’t ever been this bad, not even after Uncle Peter pulled that stunt that time that got him arrested and sent their mom on the war path with the Sheriff’s Department.

Talia shared a heavy look that spoke volumes with her husband over Derek’s shoulder. She’d been expecting this call. Lord she hoped she could keep a level head and that paranoia wouldn’t run rampant in the next few hours. The kind of power Stiles had unleashed, Deaton had said it was a miracle Jackson had even survived and just with a concussion and a few broken bones that were already healing. His father, she knew would be out for blood – Stilinski’s blood, despite his history of terrorizing the boy. Deaton said it was likely Stiles had tried to reign back the blast after it had been triggered which resulted in the boy almost putting himself into void state. It was time now to fight for the Stilinskis no matter how much they might hate the Hales at the moment. She just hoped the Sheriff would let her, given their history.

++++++

When Talia entered the Mayor’s office, Peter at her side, as expected David Whittemore was there looking ready to wage war, with his wife equally stoic at his side. Deaton sat off to the side, face expressionless, while the Mayor Martin wore a pinched look. Stilinski was nowhere in sight, at least not yet.

“Mayor, Mr and Mrs. Whittemore, Dr. Deaton,” Alpha Hale pulled her official stance around her like a cloak. She knew in this instance she would have to be Alpha rather than mother, and while it chaffed, she welcomed the surge of power through her that alerted the others in the room which hat she wore today. She was still the Alpha of Beacon Hills supernatural community.

“Alpha Hale,” the Mayor looked briefly relieved as he realized which position she had assumed in these talks. “I see you brought your second. Mr. Hale,” the Mayor indicated to Peter. Mayor Martin was the splitting image of his brother, Lydia Martin’s father, just a few years older.

“Given the interest of my family in these proceedings, I thought it wise to have Peter represent my son, who’s tied into these unfortunate events. My husband would have been here but I’m sure you can understand that he’s needed to keep things calm at home.” She said closing discussion off. She held the mates card close to her chest as she might need to draw on it later.

“Unfortunate events. Is that what you’re calling it. That boy has been a menace to this community long enough and has proven himself dangerous to us all now. My son could have died,” David Whittemore blustered as his wife’s lips became even more pinched.

“Might I suggest we stay away from name calling?”

“Name calling? Name calling?” Whittemore yelled louder.

“Yes, David, or one could easily refer to your son as a bully, as evidence all over Beacon Hills High have suggested your son has been picking on the Stilinski boy for years without restraint. Where was the outrage and censure while this was happening or do we condone particular kinds of violence and not others?” Peter drawled, tilting his head at the Whittemores and allowing his eyes a brief flare of brilliant blue. It was taken as the warning it should be.

“And on that note, I think we should refrain from discussing Stiles until he has someone present to represent his interest,” Talia suggested. Looking to the Mayor she asked, “Is his father coming?”

“Yes, he asked to give him a while to ummm, situate his son, and find someone to stay with him, and well, Dr. Deaton is here. He texted shortly before you arrived to say he should be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

The Whittemores huffed. Peter raised a brow and smirked and Talia took a deep breath. She hoped she wouldn’t regret bringing Peter. As her second he was deadly, but he was also a certified shit when he wanted to be and hated David Whittemore with unbridled passion, a feeling that was shared on both sides. But she needed someone strong enough to act in the interest of the pack and still have her back, or she would have brought Laura. When the Sheriff entered about thirteen minutes later, he looked no better than he had when he’d chased them from his premises the afternoon before. She could smell the exhaustion, worry and finally the spark of anger as he looked at them all gathered.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled as he assumed the last vacant seat in the Mayor’s small sitting room, a short distance from his desk.

“I want that Spark,” Whittemore grounded out with vehemence, “expelled immediate and sequestered somewhere outside of Beacon County until he’s deemed not a danger to public safety.”

John Stilinski grit his teeth. “David,” the Mayor tried.

“Don’t you David me. The coloured hair freak could have killed my son!”

A low growl rumbled in the tension that settled over the room, and Talia to her surprise realised it had come from her. Peter stiffened and Talia could feel his hackles rise in defense of her perceived threat.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we agree to no name calling less than 20 minutes ago?”

“I’m not afraid of you, you animal. Don’t think I don’t know what those eyes really mean!”

“Good,” Peter grinned, teeth sharp. “I do love a fair fight.”

Whittemore looked ready to fly out of his seat and Peter grinned even more, before Talia laid a steadying hand on his arm, soothingly. “Sit down David, and I’m going to ask you one last time to refrain from calling Stiles anything but by his name.”

“Is that a threat, Alpha Hale?” he sneered, eyes hard. “Are we going to allow this kind of threat to stand Martin?”

“Shut up, David,” Callum Martin seemed to have finally reached his saturation point. “We aren’t here to cast blame. We have a situation before us that we need to mitigate as best as we can and behaving like rabid animals, all of us, will get us nowhere.” It was the Mayor’s turn to flash green eyes reminding them all that he too had status in the supernatural community. The kanima looked at the adults gathered in his room and continued when he had silence. “I’ve spoken with principal Matthews and secured the video of today’s incident.” The Mayor pressed a button and a screen mounted on a wall buzzed. “This is just about five minutes before the incident.”

The video showed Jackson walking up and slinging an arm around Stiles, and the boy trying unsuccessfully to dislodged the arm. It was clear there was some dialogue happening between the two and after a minute or two, Stiles shoved Jackson away physically and the bigger werewolf shot across the room, crashing into the lockers opposite. Stiles then looked down at his hands in disbelief before he quickly looked up again at a wolfed out Jackson. The shifted wolf pounced and Stiles shied back before there was a blast and the camera went to static.

The room was dead silent.

“My God!” It was the first comment Celia Whittemore had made. She looked pale and shell shocked. Peter’s eyes flared and Talia wasn’t certain if Celia’s comments were in relation to the fact that it was clear her son had attacked an unarmed Spark, or as a result of what Stiles had clearly done to defend himself.

“Alan?” The Mayor looked to the County High Druid, and all eyes turned to the doctor.

“In all my years I’ve only seen the likes of power like this once before, and it was still nowhere near this strong. The fact that Jackson is still alive tells me Stiles held back. Even defending himself he realized quickly that he was losing control and reigned it in. If he didn’t I think we’d be looking at a flattened high school.”

The tension in the office climbed.

“Wait a minute,” John seemed to have found his voice. “My son . . .”

“John, I’m not suggesting your son wasn’t defending himself, not at all. I’m pointing out that the strongest trained Spark that I’ve ever met released a similar blast during a battle, and that blast drained the Spark, and she had two white streaks in her hair. Her blast was merely a fraction of what Stiles released and Stiles wasn’t at full power. I’m saying John, we need to find someone that can train him. He’s already got a powerful sense of control, but I’m concerned that if this gets out, we won’t just have a powerful Spark on our hands, we’ll have reason for the World Council to get involved. They will want to harness power like this, unless we prove to them that we have it under control. Do you understand? This is not Stiles’ fault. It’s on all of us for forcing him to have to defend himself in such a manner.”

“Hold on now. You’re painting my son with a villain brush here,” Whittemore chimed in once again. “Boys will be boys. They rough-house, they spar, but if you’re saying to me this is how this Spark responds, what’s to stop someone else triggering him before you find him whatever help you say he needs.” The lawyer was livid and felt the need to justify his anger.

“Derek said there was a bet made in the boys’ locker room to get Stiles to fall for him. He’d already disregarded the bet because he actually liked the little whipper snapper of a Spark, but when Jackson found out he was likely to lose in any case, he concocted a scheme to break them up. His friend Danny tried to talk him out of it, but he was determined, and I quote from Danny, with whom I spoke earlier today, ‘to put that little gay freak’ in his place. I wonder where he gets such language,” Peter said, hard eyes on the Whittemore parents.

“He’s my son’s anchor.” Talia said. Every eye in the room turned to her. “Stiles, he’s Derek’s anchor, and we believe also his mate.”

The room went silent as the implications ran through the space. Peter continued where she left off. “Which I’m sure explains why Stiles would have lost control so easily at a threat to both him and his relationship with his anchor, his mate.”

“Geez,” Martin whispered. “John, I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. I think I can say we’re done here. John, Talia, let me know if there’s anything we can do. John, is Stiles ok?”

Talia and Peter’s eyes pierced the father of their mated pack member. John Stilinski let out a pained sound. “We’re still trying to determine that. Deaton, would you mind . . .”

“Of course, John. I was planning to come over as soon as we were done here. I hope I’m not to forward, but I reached out to the Spark I mentioned earlier. She’s already on her way. If what you say is true about Stiles and Derek, it’s amazing that Derek hasn’t gone feral. It means their bond is strong and hasn’t been severed. This puts the whole of what happened into perspective if Derek is also Stiles’ anchor.”

Shocked faces accompanied his statement.

“Ok, we’re done here. John, go take care of your son. Talia, Alan, I’m sure you’ll keep an eye on this and alert me if there’s anything we need to know?”

“Of course,” both parties nodded.

“Wait, that’s it?” Whittemore shot to his feet this time, and Peter followed with a snarl.

“Peter!” Talia’s Alpha tone echoed in the room.

“Unless you want your son charged with attacking a fellow supernatural and a newly anchored and mated pair at that, I suggest you go home and tend your own family, David. I know you have a lot of pull in this town, but I can’t imagine a lot of people will be happy to learn that he threatened and attacked a soul-matched Spark and his anchor, before that bond has settled. He was courting death and you know it. But by all means, feel free to bring this all to light,” Martin said scornfully. The Whittemores cast a vicious look around the room and stomped for the door.

“John?” Talia laid a gentle hand on the Sheriff. “How is he really?”

“Why didn’t you tell me they were mated. I thought, Jesus I thought it was a crush. I knew he was falling for the boy, hell his hair was pink, but anchors, mates, Talia . . .”

“I’m sorry. Derek made me promise not to do anything until he could figure out how to deal with it. He’s been trying to get his wolf calm enough to adequately court his mate. It hasn’t been easy for him.”

“And then I go and rip them apart yesterday.” The pain was evident in the Sheriff’s face.

“We don’t blame you, John. You had every right to defend your son, especially after the mess of this bet.”

“He’s barely said a few words you know. Most of what I got, I got from Lydia, who is on the warpath by the way. Have you ever seen a banshee on a warpath?” John shook his head. He looked up at Talia. “How’s Derek?”

“Worried and in pain that he might have lost his mate and anchor and thinking that he deserves it for having taken the bet in the first place. But he’s still stable,” Talia signed, running a rough hand down her face, bare of make-up as it was. “Is there any chance you’d let him talk to Stiles?”

“I don’t think we can keep them apart do you?” John sighed. “Just give me a few days. Let me get him under control first and then we can talk about it? And Talia, tell Derek and your husband I’m sorry as well. I really didn’t know. I never thought my son would be anchored to a were, you know. No one in our family has ever been mated.” With those words the Sheriff walked out, followed by Deaton, who nodded to them all.


	6. A Bitter Pill To Swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath, Derek and Stiles have to find a way to cope. Will it be a happy ending for the couple, or the end?

The next few days in Beacon Hills High were almost ominous. The section of corridor was cordoned off with a team in to begin repairs. Once the principal heard that Stiles and Derek were mated, he’d changed his tune. No one wanted to be accused of discrimination against mates. They were rare enough as it was. There was a quiet buzz in the school about it already, whispered in reverence and awe. It certainly explained the wolf’s fascination with the weird little Spark. The Whittemores took the opportunity to ship Jackson off to a boarding school in London for the rest of the year, and Celia went with him. David Whittemore kept a low profile in town, for once.

And one late evening after 4 p.m. Talia finally got the call they were waiting for.

++++++

Derek walked up the steps slowly, heart pounding. He remembered in detail the last time he had come to the Stilinskis’ door. He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. He’d told his family he would do this alone. They’d been hovering all week and while he appreciated the comfort, his wolf was chomping at the bit with impatience. It wanted Stiles and no amount of comfort could substitute. He waited on the stoop as he heard light footsteps approaching. Stiles opened door and Derek’s wolf whined. The boy was paler than he’d ever been and his beautiful hair had been shorn and the whiteness of it was still stark against his paler than pale skin. His moles especially stood out. The two stood on opposite sides of the threshold, just looking at each other.

“You might as well come in,” Stiles muttered and turned away from the open door. He’d lost weight, Derek acknowledged as he stepped in and closed the door behind him, eyes all the while on his mate. “My dad told me you’d be coming by. I finally convinced him to go to work for the whole day today. Can I get you something to drink?” Derek’s wolf whined again and almost turned belly up at the coldness from his mate. There was none of the warmth, none of the bond that had begun to form between them. He wondered if Stiles could feel the absence of it the way he did. His wolf wanted to snarl and snap and claim, force his mate to acknowledge them for what they were.

When Derek shook his head in response to the liquid refreshment, Stiles continued. “So, you wanted to talk to me.” He plopped himself into the chair at the kitchen table. It was the least intimate seat in the house, despite the cozy feel of the home, and Derek knew Stiles had chosen the setting deliberately.

“Yeah. How,” he cleared his throat. “How are you, Stiles.” And immediately he knew it was the wrong question to start with. _How stupid was he?_ Stiles eyes went cold, hard.

“What do you want, Derek?”

“Shit, sorry.” He twisted his hands together then splayed them across the table top. “I’m so damn sorry, Stiles. I made that stupid bet before I even knew who you were. It was dumb and cruel and I never should have done it and I’m sorry. But what happened between us was real, it wasn’t the bet. I swear I fell in love with you, not for the bet, I fell . . .”

Stiles pushed back from the table suddenly, a scrape of chair legs across the floor and the chair smacked back in the silence, upturned. There was nothing but sheer fury on Stiles’ face. “Don’t you dare.” His voice shook, but it was scary soft. “You don’t get to come in here and sit in front of me and tell me you love me.”

“I do,” Derek whimpered, tears pooling in his eyes.

“You made me a fucking bet, Derek! Do you have any idea, any. . .” the thin shoulders in the black hoodie began to shake as the air went thick with emotion. The pain in Stiles’ scent drove Derek to his feet and before he knew it he was pulling Stiles into his arms as the boy dissolved into tears. “You hurt me, Derek,” he said in the muffled chest of Derek’s grayish-green shirt, that his sister had chosen to match his eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t mean to. I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, I promise you.” At those words Stiles shoved him back, scrubbing the sleeves of his hoodie over his face to clear his eyes, shaking his head all the while.

“There is no making it up to me, Derek. I only agreed to see you because I promised dad, but I can’t with you. I just can’t.”

“Stiles please.”

“NO! I CAN’T TRUST YOU!”

“Of course you can. You’re my anchor, my soulmate, Stiles. I couldn’t ever harm you deliberately.”

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “What did you say to me?” he asked after a pause.

“We’re anchors, Stiles. Deaton thinks it’s why you reacted the way you did to Jackson. You thought you were about to lose your anchor.”

Stiles’ legs went to jelly beneath him and he would have collapsed on the floor if Derek had not been fast enough to catch him. He drew him sharply against his chest as his wolf rumbled beneath his skin. He buried his nose in the juncture of Stiles’ shoulder and simply inhaled. After a short minute he felt Stiles’ arms circle his shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

“You tell me. Find our bond. Concentrate and find it Stiles.” The slim boy in his arms inhaled and within seconds gasped, as Derek felt a strum in his mind, warm and tentative but definitely there. His chest swelled and his wolf purred.

“How long have you known?” Stiles muttered.

“Since the first Homecoming Committee dinner that Lydia forced on us. My mom guessed it when I told her how my wolf was behaving toward you.”

Stiles pushed against his chest. “But that was way back . . .”

“Yea, and I asked my family not to say anything. It was kinda scary to suddenly find my wolf so determined to claim you.”

“That’s why you were avoiding me back then.”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me the truth, all of it?”

“I didn’t want to lose you and the more I got to know you, the more our bond grew the more scared I was that I’d screw it up before you even felt the same way about me.”

“How could you not know how I felt, Derek. My hair was fucking pink for a solid week before Jackson happened!”

“I don’t have excuses Stiles, just apologies. This will never happen again, I swear to you. I will make it up to you!”

“Oh yes you will. And if you ever hurt me like this again. I swear I will eviscerate you. Mate or no.”

“And I would let you, my love.” Derek tilted his chin up and met Stiles’ lips in a warm kiss. The two remained wrapped up in each other for the remainder of the evening. When the Sheriff entered his home that evening, it was to find the two soulmates tangled together in a nest in the middle of his living room. They didn’t even notice his entrance, Stiles’ head pillowed next to Derek’s as the two gazed deep into each other’s eyes, whispering together, sharing occasional chaste kisses, fingers tangling and interlocking, interspersed by Stiles’ giggles.

John’s heart eased a bit and he smiled at his son’s deep pink roots that matched his flushed cheeks. Glancing at a nearby photo of his late wife, John sent up a whisper of a prayer. He knew their son would be just fine.

======

**Epilogue**

_**2 months later** _

Delphina Fleece took one look at the Spark in front of her and shivered. His aura of power was significant. The most powerful she'd ever felt and she'd felt him from before she even entered the boundaries of Beacon Hills, with the blessing of the Hale Pack.

The doctor had met her at the boundary and escorted her to the Stilinski residence. The father looked worried and she could certainly understand it with the level of power housed under his roof. She met him with a brief nod and an introduction. As she was drawn into the home she saw the source of the power and her eyes widened at the small frame before her. She could sense his nervousness as his mate, seated beside him with fingers interlocked tried to calm him.

"Stiles, Derek," the doctor was the first one to address the couple. "This is Delphina Fleece, the Spark I told you about. She's here to assess whether or not she can take Stiles on as a student and help him to control his gifts."

"And you've got quite a gift, haven't you little one?"

"Hello, Ms Fleece. Thank you for coming all this way." His voice was shy but firm, that was good, Delphina surmised. His blush was charming. She turned to look at his mate. From what she'd been told he was the reason for Stiles' loss of control. She hoped he'd have the mettle for a Spark such as this. He would have to be deserving. She would have nothing less once Stiles was under her care and there was no doubt she would do everything she could for him.

"Call me Eli. That's what my friends and students call me."

Now it was Stiles' chance to look stunned. "Does that mean what I think it means?" His eyes bounced happily between Eli and Deaton.

"Yes, Stiles. I will train you, at least as much as I'm able. I've never felt power like yours before. I'm a Level 8 Spark. They say the highest level is a 10, but no one alive has ever met a 10, at least, I don't think anyone has until now. It's been almost like a myth in our supernatural circles. I will do all in my power to prepare you all for what that means." Her last words were spoken with eyes on Derek Hale. His straightened posture seemed to indicate he realised it as well.

"We will do whatever it takes to support Stiles, Ms. Fleece. I promise." He squeezed his mate's hand that he had yet to relinquish, even when Stiles bounded to his feet in excitement at Eli's words.

Things were now about to get interesting in Beacon Hills.


End file.
